WASTELAND
by Kumoko235
Summary: Alice is a young girl who has lost everything and sees no hope of surviving the vast desert known as the wasteland. Then she meets a mysterious man and fate takes a turn.
1. CHAPTER I

**NOTE: Review it and let me know what you think.**

**I DO NOT OWN... You know the rest.**

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><p><em>What was it like to die?<em>

This was the question that sat on my mind. A virus of words that spread unhindered through my thoughts, invading every moment of consciousness and every dream that I had. A question that remained unanswered with each passing step I took through the coarse desert sand.

But death should not be on my mind. I was still young, not even a teenager, and yet the thought of death continued to ferment inside my head. This desert, this wasteland, was cruel and unforgiving. I had been forced to recognize the harsh reality that was life. At not even twelve years of age I knew more about this world than most would consider. It was rational, even normal, to fear the inevitability that was death, but I did not.

Every minute beneath a baking sun; every pain of hunger I felt; every drop of water my body wished it had brought me closer to my breaking point. I had come to accept the fate destiny had laid out before me.

I no longer feared death.

I longed for it.

I wished for the sweet oblivion that would whisk me away from all the pain that I felt. I wanted so desperately to lay in the sand and close my eyes and never again gaze upon this desolate world.

I wanted to die.

And this desire scared me.

Deep down some part of me wished to find salvation. To hang on to what little hope remained and find reason to go on. But I found no reason. I had nowhere to go back to. Nothing to look forward to. Death was the logical conclusion of my life. It was the best conclusion, considering the alternatives.

My mother had , when I was younger, told me stories of the dangers that lurked in the vast deserts around our home: raiders, monsters, and even the desert itself. Murder, rape, slavery, and even cannibalism were common events in the wasteland. My parents had left behind society for the safety of isolation. Like every child I had been naive, believing nothing bad would ever befall me or my family.

But I had been wrong.

Everything I had ever known was taken from me.

My mother.

My father.

My home.

All were dead and gone.

And I was alone.

I wanted to cry. To give in to the child that I was, but my body would not allow it. I had had nothing to drink in days. My body would not allow me to waste what precious little water remained inside of me on something as foolish as tears.

So I cried out in my mind. A silent lament for my lost parents. For the life destiny had forced me to live. My eyes stung. My throat burned. My mind was in turmoil, and the dehydrated husk that was me continued to move across the lonely desert. I lost touch with the world around me, seeing nothing but the pain and loss that I had suffered.

I stumbled and fell, down to the hot sand without so much as an attempt to stop myself. I did not remember hitting the sand; I do not know how long I lay there too weak to move or pick myself up off the ground.

This was the end. I was not afraid, only curious as to what lay beyond.

_ What would I see once I closed my eyes for the final time?_

_ Was there a heaven?_

_ Was there a hell?_

_ Would it hurt?_

These questions and so many more ran through my mind as I waited for my life to end.

As I waited to die.

Soon my suffering would end and I would once again see my family.

My only regret was that my life had been so tragically short.

But I accepted my fate.


	2. CHAPTER II

Laying face down in the sand was beyond uncomfortable. I was going to die, nothing could change that fact, but I could at least die in comfort. At the bare minimum I could die without sand in my face. So I turned my head. The sun loomed to my right, so I looked left. And that's when I saw it: a lone speck in the distance no larger than my thumbnail. A lone building in the wastes.

Something sparked to life deep down inside of me, the part of my being that wished for continued existence. It surged forward with a renewed strength flowing through me from head to foot. It was then that I realized that I did not truly wish to die. I saw death as inevitable, but that did not mean I had to accept it. I wanted to live. I wanted to see my tomorrow.

I did not want to die.

Not yet.

Strength I had thought long gone found its way to my limbs and I pushed myself up from the dusty ground, ignoring the searing pain that flared in my muscles as I stood. Unbalanced but standing. I forced my leg up and placed one foot in front of the other, and that foot in front of the first. I concentrated on this one act, thinking of nothing else.

_One foot in front of the other_.

With each passing step the building grew larger.

Then the sand was gone and I stood among the ruins of an abandoned shack. A ruin lost to the vast desert. The walls had long ago collapsed in on themselves and the carpet felt frayed and brittle underneath my worn sneakers. Sunlight filtered through where the roof had collapsed. Junk and debris littered the ground inside and out, accumulating in piles and stacks like artificial dunes of trash. Time had been harsh to what once had been a home, but the past was the past. My survival depended on the here and now, the present, not forgotten memories of a world long gone.

A collection of rusted tin cans caught my eye. They sat near a threadbare suitcase just feet from where I stood. I stumbled towards them and began searching, finding an inch or so of rancid water inside of one. I didn't hesitate. I downed the contents of the can in one gulp, ignoring the urge to vomit as the horrid water slid down my throat. The water – or so I hoped it was – was foul and disgusting but it was also a godsend. My body was grateful for the liquid it so desperately ached for. I felt revived. Death no longer seemed to loom over me, but I knew it was only a temporary fix. I would need to find more if I wanted to survive.

The suitcase seemed likely to hold something of value so I began my search with it. The numbered lock had rusted away to almost nothing and broke apart with a small tug. Inside were several articles of clothing and a _Programmer's Digest_ magazine. I flipped through several pages before tossing the magazine aside for later. Next I turned my attention to a nearby heap of metal boxes resting atop a wooden pallet. The pallet was propped up on one end by a damaged footlocker, creating a small crawlspace where several empty boxes of Cram lay scattered. The footlocker interested me but the weight of the pallet kept its lid firmly shut, so I ignored it and climbed atop to look through the myriad of boxes.

I was a vulture picking through each and every box, though I came away empty handed. Most were either empty or filled to the brim with trash. One contained the small skeleton of a rat whose misfortune was to become trapped inside like a... well... rat. This morbid discovery prompted me to question just how far I would go to survive. We had always had a steady supply of vegetables at home that grew with enough effort on our part, but my father would often hunt the wildlife that roamed the desert around where we lived. More often that not it was giant mole rats. They tasted terrible and smelled just as bad, but we made do. One couldn't always have bighorner steak for dinner.

My stomach growled at the thought of food. I decided then and there that I was hungry enough to eat almost anything at this point, rat or otherwise.

My luck remained in the negative as I continued to scrounge through the mountain of boxes. I was ready to forgo them and investigate an old refrigerator I had spied in a nearby room and was about to leave when I spied a padlocked box nestled in among the others. Too tempting to pass up I tugged at the damaged lock. It popped off with a snap and the lid burst open. I was excited as I dug my hands into the box, hoping to find food or water or anything useful, but my excitement quickly died away.

It was just a random assortment of odds and ends.

_Damn_.

I decided to be thorough and look through the box anyway. First thing to come out was a faded blue jumpsuit with the number _40_ etched on the back in bold print. The previous owner had been cruel to the fabric, riddling the jumpsuit with holes and tears. I threw it aside. It was worthless to me. Next was a broken radio, then some old photographs too faded to understand, a toy car, a paint gun, several bobby pins, spent shotgun shells, and socks. Lots and lots of socks. Too many socks. A number of socks that made the number of pairs I had owned look deplorable. In a pseudo rage I flung the socks as far away from me as possible. I was reaching for more to throw when me hand hit something hard.

There was something hidden beneath the socks.

It was a computer, only smaller and attached to an oversized rubber bracelet with metal casings. The screen was dark, as were the three lights beneath it. A small gauge occupied the left hand corner; a round dial sat a little lower. I lifted the device into the light so I could better examine it.

Written in faded lettering were the words_ Pip-Boy Model 3000_.

My eyes drifted to the dark screen where eyes as grey as stone stared back at me in a strong, if weary, gaze. My own eyes. I was not one to gaze mindlessly at my own reflection for hours on end – I wasn't vain, or at least didn't think I was – but it had been quite some time since I had last looked myself over in the mirror.

I examined my face using the _Pip-Boy's_ reflective screen as a makeshift mirror of sorts. I still had the same yellow hair that hung limply from under my stormchaser hat. Still had the freckles and crooked grin. The only difference I could discern was the sunburn and the excess grime. I smiled into the small computer screen and made a mental note to find a toothbrush.

I toyed with the _Pip-Boy_ a bit longer, unsure of how to activate it. Still, it was an amazing discovery: a personal computer that one wore on their forearm! At least, that's what I assumed. The device could be something else entirely for all that I knew.

If only I could just figure out how to to turn it on...

I decided to keep the _Pip-Boy_. It could prove useful, or at the very least entertaining. The problem was that I had nothing to carry it in. In my rush I had forgotten to grab a bag and pack supplies, which had led to my predicament in the desert. Even if I found something of value I would be limited to what I could carry. I needed a bag or something to carry whatever I found in. The suitcase came to mind. It had wheels and I could easily rig it to close properly.

As for the _Pip-Boy_, it was meant to be worn...

I pulled back my shirt sleeve and squeezed my right hand through the bracelet. It was a snug fit but my hand slid through. I held up my arm to examine it. It was on, but it felt off somehow, like maybe I had put it on wrong.

_Maybe it's broken?_

Sunlight reflected off of the screen as I turned my arm to examine the bracelet, creating spots of rainbow colored light on the dusty floor. I turned my arm again and the miniature rainbow darted away. Another movement brought the rainbow back, more vibrant than ever.

I grinned. Even when powered down the _Pip-Boy_ was entertaining.

For several minutes I played with the _Pip-Boy_ and the little rainbow, its light bouncing all around the shack. I was completely enthralled with its ability to change light into color, but I knew I had to continue searching for supplies. Strangely saddened by the rainbow's disappearance, I hopped down from the pallet, landing with a soft thud on my feet.

_CRASH!_

The sound thundered throughout the ruined shack, sending me flailing to the floor in terror. Something had fallen and shattered nearby: something heavy and fragile judging by the sound. I crawled over to the heap of boxes, doing my best to get close without being seen by whatever had knocked over the object. I stilled my breathing, tuning my ears to detect the most minute of sounds.

The floorboards were creaking. There was the thud of heavy boots.

Someone was here.

A sense of joy I had not felt in some time washed over me like a waterfall. I felt as if I could cry from pure happiness. After days of wandering alone in the desert I had finally found another human being. I was saved!

Or was I?

My mind began to race with all the possibilities. I remembered the stories my mother had once told me: of people who committed horrible acts against their fellow man. My mind returned to _that_ day. The day when I had lost everything dear to me. The day the raiders had found our home. They had killed my parents in cold blood without a shred of mercy. They would have killed me too, or worse.

I had been lucky, but just how far would my luck run?

_Would this person help me?_

_ Or would they hurt me?_

_ It could be a raider or a slaver_.

_I might be killed and eaten! What if I'm raped?_

_What if it wasn't human?_

_ They could hurt me._

_ They would hurt me_.

Panic set in. The rational me who calmly searched for supplies was gone, instead replaced by a child who had just seen the boogeyman. Unbridled fear took over.

I did not want to die.

My first instinct was to run, but what little rationality that remained in my head prevented me from doing so. The person could have a gun. I would only be an exposed target out in the desert. No, my best bet was to hide. To disappear. Making a snap decision I slid under the pallet, crawling as far back into the shadows as I could without making a sound. And then I waited.

And I prayed.

The thud of boots marched into the room just seconds after I had hid. The person was in no rush. I watched the worn leather boots move dully to the suitcase. A gloved hand bent down to retrieve the _Programmer's Digest_. My _Programmer's Digest_. The person then ambled over to the pallet. I held my breath. A boot knocked against the footlocker with a _clang_. Both hands came down to grip the pallet and struggle to lift it. The pallet remained where it was, far to heavy to be moved by anyone. The person gave up.

I relaxed.

And then the man got down to his knees. I could only watch in horror as his hand reached into the crawlspace where I hid, grabbing for any treasures that had been long forgotten. His gloved hand pawed close to where I was, snagging a Cram box. The person examined it briefly before tossing it. They reached under again, coming closer to where I lay hidden, fingers just inches away from me.

Something brushed against my leg. The hand drew back, confused at what it had just felt. Fingers tentatively reached out, unsure of what lay hidden in the darkness. Then the hand lunged forward, grabbing onto me.

I screamed.

I flew out from under the pallet faster than a radroach fleeing from the kitchen light, startling the person enough to make them fall over themselves. I got on my feet and ran into the desert, feeling every pump of blood and twinge of pain with each step I took. My shoes slid in the sand but I remained upright and moving, leaping over a small furrow with all the grace of an intoxicated gazelle: an animal I had read about in my father's books.

I refused to look back.

I just kept moving.

I had to.

The gunshot came fast: a booming sound that tore through the desert air louder than anything I had ever heard. Time slowed to almost nothing. I watched as the bullet sped past my head, taking with it a strand of my yellow hair.

Drops of blood trailed after it.

A misstep and I fell.


	3. CHAPTER III

**NOTE: The end of the first part of WASTELAND. The first three chapters were originally going to be a single large chapter, though I decided against this. Splitting it up seemed like the better choice. To all those who read this, please leave a comment of what you think. Just don't say it's good, critique me. I can take it.**

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><p>I landed hard.<p>

Momentum carried me several feet further across the dirt and sand. My pants were shredded at the knees and I could feel my skin burning from the friction. I knew it was over. The man had shot me, and even though I felt no pain I could see the blood seeping into the sand around me, dyeing the wasteland a deep scarlet.

Heavy boots crunched through the sand behind me. I could hear their steady pace. That, and something else. Labored breathing and a scratching sound. Something was crawling its way across the ground. Closer to me. Then it screeched: an inhuman sound of pain and rage that made my blood run cold. I rolled over onto my back.

I shouldn't have.

Dragging itself towards me was a monstrous creature that I had never seen before. A gangly thing with deep colored fur and razor sharp teeth that shone like daggers in its horrible mouth. Blood gurgled forth from a bullet wound near its neck with each haggard breath it took, pooling beneath it in a crimson puddle that shone brightly in the blazing sun's light. Its silver eyes stared directly ahead, directly at me, blind and unblinking and filled to the brim with a feral hunger. It wanted to eat me.

A clawed hand snapped shut around my ankle. Pain shot through my leg as the thing's claws dug into my flesh like hot knives, and slowly I was dragged back to the thing, its maw open in anticipation. I yelled out and kicked at the monster with my free leg, doing nothing but enraging it further. Then the man stood above us, faceless behind a filter mask that made every breath he took sound mechanical. He raised his hunting rifle in one hand and wrapped a gloved finger around the trigger.

He fired and the creature went limp, its brain spilling to the ground.

I was breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating. The monster's clawed hand was still twisted tightly around my ankle, its claws dug in tight. The man slung his rifle over his shoulder and approached me, the visor of his mask reflecting everything that stood before him. I drew back as far as I could, pain flaring through my leg with every movement. The man ignored my fear and stooped down so that he could pry the dead creature off of my leg. The pain I felt was excruciating as the claws were worked free of my skin. Liberated from the monster, the man lifted me up off the ground and carried me back to the ruined shack, making sure not to jar my injured leg.

I said nothing as the man held me in his arms.

He said nothing in return.

The faceless man sat me atop a wooden dresser which groaned under my weight. I watched as he retrieved supplies from his rucksack and set to work on my wound, applying a rancid smelling salve that alleviated much of my pain before bandaging my leg tightly. He then held out an apple, waiting patiently for me to take the fruit from him. My hunger won out in seconds and I snatched the apple from his hand, biting voraciously into it without a second thought.

The man nodded and left me alone in the shack. He returned moments later with the dead monster. Food was food in the wasteland, no matter where it came from. The man began carving into the creature like an expert butcher. I watched him work from my perch, savoring the last of the apple's white flesh. The man reminded me of my father after a successful day of hunting, though my father had never encountered a creature such as this before: a monstrous shrew that waits for prey to pass. The man separated what was edible and what wasn't and soon had a small fire started using the excess amount of socks as kindling. I took pleasure in watching the socks burn.

Soon the meat was cooking.

The man disposed of the waste while I sat where I was, not willing to put pressure on my leg just yet. The scents that wafted over from the fire were torture. The apple had done nothing to appease my appetite and had only made my hunger worse. I would have gladly eaten the meat raw but I remained civilized, enduring the temptations that pulled at me.

As the meat cooked the man continued his search of the shack, finding usefulness in items I would have passed over: such as bobby pins and bottle caps. He might have an elaborate hairstyle beneath his wide brimmed cap – a hat which was similar to my own stormchaser hat – but bottle caps seems completely useless in the wasteland. He also found more sensible items, like ammo and some electronic scrap which I assumed could be sold or traded.

The refrigerator had been a horror show: something much larger than a rat had died inside, and recently at that. Afterwards the man found the blue jumpsuit. He seemed truly interested in that useless piece of clothing, paying special attention to the number inscribed on its back. He eventually tossed it aside and continued on. I was tempted to show him the _Pip-Boy _that I had found and now wore, though I decided against it.

_ I still did not know this man. He might take it from me._

The sun was setting by the time the meat had finished cooking. Famished could never describe how I ate that evening. I tore into ever morsel handed to me like a rabid dog, taking enough time to find the irony in this situation. I was now eating the monster that had tried to eat me. The creature had been disgusting when alive but it tasted so delicious, if not just a little chewy. The man ate nothing. He simply handed me more to eat once I ran out. I felt like a glutton, though I had a legitimate excuse.

"Thank you," I said after stuffing my face to my heart's content. The man nodded and remained quiet. I continued. "I would have died if you had not helped." The man said nothing.

And then it was morning.

And I was alone.

The man was nowhere to be found.

Laying beside the now dead fire was a small plastic sack. Inside was a bottle of water and some dried meat. Deeper down was my _Programmer's Digest_ magazine. I didn't think, I just acted. I grabbed the bag and ran out into the desert, finding and following a trail in the sand. My injured leg was stiff and sore, but that made no difference. I moved as fast as I could, sweating through the morning heat.

And then I stood behind the faceless man, his long coat trailing behind him with each step he took. His rifle's barrel glinting in the still rising sun.

"Let me come with you," I said aloud. I did not want to be alone. Not again.

The man said nothing and continued walking.

The hope I had felt crashed and burned deep inside of me. He wanted nothing more to do with me, though could I blame him. I would only be a burden. He had shown me an act of kindness, but all that mattered in the end was his own survival, not mine.

I hung my head, willing myself not to cry because I knew I would always be alone in this wretched desert. I would wander alone and I would die alone. No memory of me would exist and I would be forgotten, just as the ruined shack had been forgotten to time. My walls would collapse and I would wither under the sun. That was my fate, and I was foolish to think that I could change it.

The man stopped and turned to face me, staring out from behind his reflective visor. He tilted his head in the direction he had been traveling, a small nod that shattered the world of despair that surrounded me. I smiled my crooked grin and wiped away the tears that had pooled in the corners of my eyes as I ran to his side.

"Thank you," I choked, ready to cry out in joy. I cleared my throat and composed myself, holding out my hand in a businesslike manner. "I'm Alice."

The man looked down at me and placed a gloved hand atop my head. I pouted to show my displeasure but I did not shake his hand off. Deep down I longed for the touch of another human being, just so I would know that some good still existed in a world where evil thrived.

For the longest of moments we stood like this, statues in the wastes.

And then we marched across the desert, without a care in the world as to where I went.


	4. CHAPTER IV

**NOTE: Congratulations on making it this far. This is the beginning of part two of WASTELAND. As always, please tell me what you think by reviewing. Please enjoy.**

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><p>Slightly more than a week had come to pass since I had last laid eyes on my home. Since the day my parents had been brutally killed by raiders. I had come face to face with death as I wandered alone through the wasteland, only to survive with the aid of a faceless man. A man who I now traveled alongside. He had saved me from a horrific death and gave me reason to hope for a future.<p>

He was my link to life, and I was grateful. More than grateful.

I looked over the dancing flames of the campfire to the man who lay opposite me, his mechanical breaths steady and even. His rifle and gear lay beside him, within easy reach if needed. I lazily chewed the last of my dinner, swallowing the tough jerky the man had given me. He had eaten nothing.

This act irritated me deeply to no end. Another of his many quirks.

The man who had saved my life was strange to say the least. His true appearance remained a mystery, his face permanently hidden from the outside world behind a reflective visor. He moved forward with a purpose that eluded me; he never spoke nor ate in my view. Even his name was a question left unanswered.

I knew nothing of this man and yet I was forced to place my survival in his hands.

This man was strange. This entire world was strange.

I sighed and looked out into the darkness that surrounded our little camp. In the distance I could just make out the dark silhouette of the great city whose buildings stretched high up into the sky: towers of concrete and steel. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Ruins of a society long gone: a testament to the past. A moving sight that instilled both awe and sadness into me.

My father had told me stories of a world that no longer existed. A place where the water was as clear as crystal and the trees as green as jade. A place where cities of unimaginable sizes rose from the earth as monuments to the greatness of mankind.

Then the war began, and the bombs fell, and the world suffered.

The water evaporated. The trees died. The cities were obliterated, and the people were thrown back into an age of darkness. Overnight the world ended. The wasteland was all that remained of a world of grandeur.

I turned away from the city. We would resume our journey early tomorrow morning and I needed to get some sleep. I curl up beside the fire and lay my head down on my arms. Closing my eyes I soon drift off only to dream of my dead parents. My mother is baking a meat pie and my father is tending the garden. Both smile at me, and then they're gone. And I'm alone.

Sleep is fleeting.

I stared up into the night sky. The moon is empty above me, just a sliver in the starry sky. A distant howl of coyotes sent shivers down my spine. I decided to play with my _Pip-Boy_. Maybe, just maybe, the rainbow will come back, revitalized in the flickering firelight. The rainbow made me smile, and I needed to smile right now.

I bent my arm around the fire, aiming the little screen towards the orange hot flames to no avail. The firelight is too uneven to make the rainbow. I keep trying, not hearing the whisper in the sand. The footstep. I look up.

The man is standing above me, staring down from behind his mack. Staring down at the small device attached to my scrawny wrist. I freeze in place, my mouth slightly agape. An irrational fear takes over and I quickly hide the _Pip-Boy_ beneath my sleeve. The man takes my arm, gently but firmly, and pulls the sleeve back.

"Don't take it. It's mine," I yelled with no force in my voice, tugging at the man's grip. He ignored my pleas, far too fascinated to pay me any attention. I begged the man to leave me be, to let me keep the little computer. I wanted to see the rainbow again. I wanted to smile.

The faceless man released his grip and stood. He lifted his left arm and pulled the loose fitting sleeve back. Wrapped tightly around his forearm was a large rubber bracelet with metal casings that glinted in the firelight. Glowing softly with eerie green light was a small computer screen that brightened with his touch.

His very own _Pip-Boy_.

"You have one?" I mouthed in amazement. The man nodded and tapped away at the computer with his gloved finger. After a moment he dropped his arm and turned his back to me, returning to his side of the campfire in several strides. He laid his head on his rucksack and went back to sleep.

I could see a faint glow emanating from under my dirty sleeve. A single beep sounded and the rubber bracelet pressurized and tightened as it adjusted to the size of my forearm. I held the _Pip-Boy_ up to my face and stared at the little mascot that smiled gleefully at me from the screen. Below him was a message.

_Error detected_.

_Negative match to M. Jackson_.

_Reassigning_.

. . . .

_Welcome and thank you for choosing RobCo Industries_' Pip-Boy Model 3000.

_Please enter your name_.

A keyboard appeared on the screen. I used my index finger to tape the letters of my name.

_A_

_L_

_I_

_C_

_E_

I hit enter.

_Is this correct?_

_Yes / No_

I hit yes.

_One moment as you are registered_.

. . . .

_User Name: ALICE  
>Serial Number: 46226-46235<em>

_Blood Type: O-_

_Resting Heart Rate: 75_

_Condition: Excellent_

_Radiation: Low_

_S: 3_

_P: 5_

_E: 6_

_C: 4_

_I: 7_

_A: 8_

_L: 1_

_You are now registered._

_Thank you ALICE for choosing RobCo Industries. Please enjoy your _Pip-Boy Model 3000.

_Warranty null and void in event of nuclear holocaust_.

I smiled as the _Pip-Boy's_ screen faded and came back to life with the central menu.

Who needed rainbows.


	5. CHAPTER V

**NOTE: Here it is, the next chapter of WASTELAND. It's almost over. A question to all the people who read this (I honestly have no clue how many people read this story), concerning the chapters, should they remain simply number or should they have a title? Please answer this for me, or at least give me your opinion. As always, let me know what you think.**

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><p>The sun had only just now breached the eastern horizon and already the man with no face and I stood in the heart of the ancient city. The crumbling ruins had once been a sprawling mecca whose towers now stood over us like sentries of the old world, casting long shadows that darkened every inch and corner of the narrow streets.<p>

Streets that lay abandoned.

A sense of foreboding had washed over me upon entering the dead city: an imposing force that sunk deep into my bones like radiation. The air was heavy in my lungs and the ground hallowed beneath my feet, both tainted with the blood of so many who had perished. This place was haunted by the memories of the past, and yet the faceless man marched onward, undeterred, his rifle resting gently against his shoulder.

I followed this man closely, finding mind-numbing solace with my _Pip-Boy_. I tapped at the screen with dirty fingers, exploring every function and giggling each and every time the device made noise. It was such a small computer and yet it could do so much: it monitored my vitals, contained a dictionary, measured environmental radiation, played games, and even kept the time! I had thanked the man, nearly worshiped him, for restoring the small computer: he had said nothing.

I pressed the MAP tab with my finger. The screen changed to an aerial view of the surrounding area. A little blip floated in the middle, representing me and where I stood in relation to the world. A notice then appeared on the screen.

_Connection restored to RobCo Industries Global Positioning Satellite_.

_Acquiring data_.

…

_Current position: 39°06'35''N, 94°35'19''W_

I studied the string of numbers, unsure of what they meant. I decided to ask the man, but, as always, he remained silent. I glowered at his silence, and then decided to pester the man further in the vain hope he would say something, anything at all, even if it was to tell me off. Of course this didn't work quite as planned.

The man stopped suddenly and I, fully engrossed with my _Pip-Boy_, walked right into him. We stood in the center of an old intersection, the road before us blocked by the rubble of a collapsed building. The same was true to the other streets as well, making this an effective dead end.

The man scratched at his head before searching for an alternative route using his own _Pip-Boy_. It wasn't long before he made his way to the rusted shell of an automobile that sat useless some twenty feet away. Behind it stood a rusted archway, marking the entrance to a stairwell that led deep into the earth. _METRO_ was scribbled across the sign in faded print. I had no clue what metro meant and was about to check my _Pip-Boy's_ dictionary when the man began descending into the darkness, leaving me alone on the abandoned city street. I rushed after him, taking the concrete steps two at a time and nearly tripping over my own feet and into the darkness below.

We soon stood in an old station. It was unnerving, this never-ending darkness. It masked even the man beside me in a shroud of impenetrable black. I wished to return to the streets above, to the sunlight, but the man seemed intent on proceeding forward. I had no choice but to follow.

I could hear the man rummaging through his rucksack. Soon a beam of dusty light cut through the inky blackness, its strong spotlight illuminating the fluid stained walls and the filthy tiled floor. The man handed me the cylindrical flashlight and led the way into the darkness, his hunting rifle at the ready. I stayed close behind him, trying my best not to imagine what lay in the shadows behind me.

We hopped down from the station's platform and followed a railroad that existed deep underground, its tracks curving away from us and into the darkness where the light could not reach them. Large cracks marred the cement walls and ceiling of the tunnel; small communities of ghostly mushrooms grew in abundance around stagnant pools of water. Radroaches scurried away from our light, seeking shelter beneath warped railway cars that had derailed and crashed. Handprints could be clearly seen in the grime that covered the train windows, as if someone desperately wanted their freedom.

I stepped closer to the man, finding comfort in his deep mechanical breathing.

After what felt like hours trekking through the darkness we reached a junction, an area where multiple tracks came together to form a single line. The faceless man came to an abrupt stop, placing a hand over my flashlight. I took the hint and killed the light, immersing us in total darkness. In the distance I could spy a ceiling light that had survived all these lonely years beneath the surface, its faint glow flickering in the darkness. The man stilled his breathing, stepping lightly towards the faint light. I followed, too afraid to be left alone in the darkness.

In the darkness I could hear footsteps.

And then something stumbled into the flickering light.

A monster that had once been human, no doubt ravaged by the harsh radiation of the wasteland, shambled listlessly through the darkness like a moving corpse. Its skin was mottled and rotten, stretched tight over an emaciated frame that trembled with each ragged breath it took. It sniffed the air like an animal, the milky white eyes of its ruined face glancing briefly in our direction before turning away to prowl elsewhere.

I placed a hand over my mouth to stifle any screams that should escape. The man moved through the junction, a shadow in the darkness, heading towards a second tunnel and away from the monster. I clung to his side, taking his gloved hand into mine.

Then my _Pip-Boy _sounded with a ding.

_Connection lost to RobCo Industries Global Positioning Satellite_.

The ghoul spun to face us, its horrible shriek echoing in the dark tunnels. The man raised his rifle and fired, the round passing through the monster's head with ease. It fell lifeless to the ground as more shrieks erupted from deeper in the tunnel, a grotesque chorus of the damned.

More ghouls were coming this way. A lot more.

The man grabbed me by the arm and dragged me down the dark tunnel, my legs pumping just to keep pace with his long strides. I could hear them behind us. I could smell them, a foul stench that burned into my nostrils like acid. Their inhuman shrieks drew closer with each step. They were hungry, and they would be appeased.

An overturned railway car blocked the tunnel ahead, just visible as the darkness gave way to a sickly twilight as more and more fluorescent lamps flickered in fleeting life above us. The man wrapped an arm around my waist and, before I knew what was happening, tossed me unceremoniously atop the train car. He clambered up the side after me, turning to fire point-blank at a ghoul that was too close for comfort. The man swung himself over the ledge and we both leaped down to the other side. But the ghouls would not be slowed. They scaled the overturned railway car with ease, washing over the obstacle like a tidal wave of rotting flesh and primordial hunger.

I did not look back. I could not look back for my fear was too great. I pushed myself to run faster, to keep pace with the man, but my energy was nearly gone. The monsters would catch me and I would be killed, alone in the dark tunnels as the man saved only himself, leaving me to die in his stead. It was only natural, survival of the fitness, and my limit was soon approaching.

Fate had not changed: it had only been delayed.

The man threw out his arm suddenly, letting a small metal ball fly free of his gloved hand. I could hear the _clang_ as the metal sphere hit the cracked wall behind me, bouncing several times against the ground.

And then it exploded.

I nearly fell from the intense shock wave, choking on the heavy dust that fell free of the ceiling and now clogged my lungs. Inhuman screams of pain filled the tunnel as several ghouls were torn apart by the deadly shrapnel thrown by the exploding grenade. Another grenade was thrown and more ghouls claimed in the chaos. The tunnel shacked violently around us. The man spun around and two more grenades flew from his hands.

That was all that was needed.

A great rift opened above as tons of rubble and earth collapsed down into the tunnel from the ceiling, crushing anything unfortunate enough to be directly underneath. The ghouls were buried alive in a mass grave, and I was thrown to the grown by the force of the landslide. When the dust settled we were all that remained: a mute and a child, alone in the destroyed metro tunnel.

Shrieks filled the air as several ghouls lucky enough to survive dug themselves out of the debris like zombies resurrecting, shambling towards where I lay on the tracks. The masked man rose up from the ground, his mechanical breathing erratic. He smacked the side of his head several times before his filter mask returned to its normal pace. Then he raised his rifle.

One shot, one kill.

Two shots, two kills.

Three shots, three kills.

The remaining ghouls recovered and charged forward as a pack of rabid monsters. The man slammed a new magazine into the rifle and slid back the bolt, opening fire almost immediately. One ghoul fell as the round shattered its kneecap; another's head exploded into a viscous paste from the impact. A third ghoul was simply decapitated.

Light...

Light...!

I could see light!

I didn't wait for the man. I couldn't wait for him. I climbed up off the ground and onto the raised platform, stumbling across the station towards the sunlight that filtered in from above. I ran up the concrete steps, abandoning the man to the tunnels and the darkness. I needed to reach the surface. I had to see the blue sky once again!

Then I was standing under the sun, staggering away from the haunted metro, exhausted but happy. Happy to be alive and away from the hellish creatures that inhabited the world beneath the city ruins. And I stood there in the city street, laughing a maniacal laughter that showed just how damaged I had become.

"Well, what do we have here? A lost little bird in the desert."

I twisted around, slowly, to see three men approaching me, all clad in crude armor patched together with metal scrap and junk. Painted on their chests was the motif of a vulture, and one, a squat man who stood in the center, wore a human skull across his right shoulder. Metal spikes protruded through the skull like snake's fangs.

The man's greasy face contorted into a malicious grin as he stepped closer towards me. I stepped back. "What's a little bird like ya doing all alone in the big bad city?" he asked. "Wouldn't want ya to get hurt now, would we?"

The largest of the men was licking his chapped lips, chuckling like a nutcase the entire time. "We could sure use something to eat, boss," he suggested. "Been a long time since supper." The large man reached down for the pistol holstered to his side. The third man remained quiet, indifferent to everything.

The boss shook his head vigorously. "Ya always jumping to conclusions. Ya have to take your time, play with ya food. It's not everyday that such a gift comes walking this way into our city. A little bird ripe for the plucking. I say we not let it go to waste."

The men stepped towards me.

I screamed at them, suddenly overcome with anger. "Stay away from me!"

The boss laughed. "Ooh, this little bird has some fight in her."

The men were on me before I could run, the leader's grip closing tightly around my thin throat. He threw me to the ground, pressing his weight down on me so that I couldn't move. I could only stare up into his cold eyes and breath in his rancid breathe. A smell of rot and death.

"Don't fight too much," grinned the boss. "Wouldn't want to hurt ya too much."

He reached for my trousers and ripped the button free with a single pull. I could feel my pants slide down my legs; his touch as he caressed my inner thigh. His two goons stood above us, waiting for their turn. I struggled against my captor, trying desperately to break free, but he was too strong. There was nothing I could do.

A shadow moved in the distance.

"We get to eat after this, right boss?" asked the larger man.

The boss sighed. "Yes, Bob, we get to eat her after this."

The boss reached under my shirt. His fingers found my stomach, circling my navel like the vultures painted on their crude armor. Then he inched higher. He was touching me and then pulling my shirt up. His fingers were fondling my chest, and they went lower. Much lower.

"Relax," whispered the boss, bringing his foul mouth close to my ear. He spoke sweetly, but his voice was laced with corrosive acid. He was undoing his pants. "I'll try to be gentle."

Blood splattered against the cold ground.

The man with no face stood there above me, the lethal blade of his combat knife dug deep into the neck of the large man, severing his spine in one fluid movement. The faceless man's rifle was raised and, with one arm, he fired point-blank into the second man's head, blowing out the back of his skull. Both fell dead to the ground, unaware that they had just been killed.

"What the..." The boss pushed himself up, reaching the pistol holster at his side.

I grabbed onto the filthy man, wrapping my arms and legs around his torso and dragging him down atop me. It was all the time that was needed. The masked man flipped his rifle around, grabbing onto the barrel and swinging upwards like a club, making contact with the raider's temple. There was a sickening _crack_ and the man rolled off of me, laying motionless on the ground.

I scrambled to my feet, pulling my pants up to my waist. "You bastard!" I yelled at the downed raider, kicking him squarely in the ribcage with as much force as I could muster. The fallen man was still breathing. Rage boiled over inside of me, and I stared long and hard into the reflective visor of the masked man.

He shrugged and drew back the bolt of his rifle. He fired directly into the raider's skull without a second though. Blood and brain matter sprayed the asphalt, and the man ceased to live.

My _Pip-Boy_ sounded with a ding.

_Connection restored to RobCo Industries Global Positioning Satellite_.

_Acquiring data_.

…


	6. CHAPTER VI

**NOTE: Well, here it is, the final part of WASTELAND. I decided to break the last part into several chapters (works better that way). Thank you all for reading up to this point. Also, thanks to all who reviewed this story: gives me reason to write knowing I have an audience. I won't hold you any more. Enjoy the chapter.**

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><p>It was another dead end.<p>

The faceless man and I stood there in the city street, both unsure as to what to do next as we faced the mountain of rubble impeding our path. The city ruins were gradually falling to pieces around us, making travel slow and arduous.

I wanted to scream out in frustration.

So I did.

The man nudged my arm and nodded his head towards a nearby metro station entrance. I was adamant in my explanation, making it as clear as crystal to the masked man that I would never, ever again set foot inside those metro tunnels as long as I lived. The horrors contained there would forever haunt me, and already the man was willing to step down into hell when not even half a day had passed since our last excursion beneath the city streets.

The man relented and we began searching for an alternate route.

We could backtrack, though there was no guarantee of success. The easiest solution, in theory, was to simply climb over the debris, but that challenge in of itself presented several problems. The sides were hazardously steep and no doubt unstable. Adding to the danger were the beams of twisted steel near the base of the artificial mountain, their points aimed skyward towards the sky like stakes. A single error could spell the end. The man could, with caution, scale the wall, I was sure about this. I, on the other hand, would meet an unfortunate and painful end.

The man found the solution: a small alleyway set between two buildings. I had overlooked this path due to it being partially concealed by a wrecked city bus. We were able to squeeze pass the obstruction with little trouble and made our way to the other side.

Greeting us was a wide avenue unlike any of the streets we had seen previously. Trees that had once been an aesthetic view stood dead and withered along a central median that bisected the roadway which was lined on either side by offices and storefronts. No obstacles threatened our travel. The avenue was completely deserted except for a few rusted cars.

I couldn't wait to leave this city behind me.

"So where are we going?" I asked the masked man, not expecting any reply whatsoever. The stillness of the city air was starting to negatively affect me. Everything was so quiet for so long that it was unnerving. Unnatural. Talking was one way to make it all more bearable. Plus I could still hold conversations with the man, they would merely be one-sided, and I truly was interested as to where we were headed.

The man reached into his rucksack for a worn paper map that was frayed at the edges. He unrolled the paper carefully and showed it to me. It was a map of North America. A large area north of several small seas was circled in red ink.

"What's there?" I asked, studying the map until he returned it to his bag.

He said nothing.

"That silent act of yours is really starting to piss me off," I muttered lowly, my voice tinged with deep annoyance. The man reached out a gloved hand and placed it atop my head as if I was some pet of his. I shook him off and asked, "Why are you so quiet? Can you not talk at all or do you choose not to speak? Either way it's..."

The windshield of a nearby car – maybe two or three feet away – exploded into thousands of shards and disintegrated as the report of a long rifle tore down the vacant avenue. I was already being dragged down behind the car as another shot was fired, the round sparking against the car's metal just inches above our heads. The man held his own rifle at the ready beside me. A third shot was fired, destroying another of the car's windows and sending glass raining down on me. I swore using what few curse words I knew and wiped the glass shards off of me.

A mob could be heard approaching us from where the sniper shots had been fired, yelling and cheering as they fired their own weapons blindly into the air and at us. A torrent of men in crude armor erupted from the building behind us, effectively surrounding me and man from both ends.

The man grabbed me by the arm and I was dragged out into the deadly crossfire. Bullets ricocheted around us like angry wasps as we were fired upon from both directions, and by some miracle we remained unharmed. The masked man jumped through a window, shattering the glass with his shoulder and landing inside a spacious office lobby. I fell in after him and we took shelter behind a wooden reception desk. The men outside opened fire into the building, obliterating what little remained intact inside the lobby. The desk splintered from the hits but held firm behind us.

An order was barked and the gunfire ceased almost immediately. I risked a glance around the corner of the desk, moving slowly so not to draw attention to myself. A muscular man in slightly more elegant armor stood before the mob, a short-barreled assault rifle in one hand and a megaphone in the other. Two bare chested men flanked his sides like Praetorian Guards: both sported masks of human bone that hid their visage and brandished lethal machete-like homemade spears. A vulture was painted in blood across their hearts, its wings spread in mock flight.

The leader spoke loudly, raising the megaphone to his lips to amplify his deep voice. He addressed both me and the masked man as we hid inside the office building. "My name is Samuil," he said, "leader of the Vultures and ruler of this city."

His voice then raised in anger. "You have defiled our territory and killed our own, and for that you must be punished!" The small army behind Samuil cheered enthusiastically, firing their weapons into the sky. Samuil barked at them before speaking again. "Come out with your weapons down and we will show you mercy with a quick death. Fight us and you will beg us to end your lives."

The masked man tightened his grip on his hunting rifle. I knew that he would not die without a fight, and somehow this fact gave me a sliver of hope. Surrender meant death. Resistance mean death, but a small possibility of escape remained. The odds were against us. We were outnumbered and outgunned, but I felt confidence in the man who had saved me on so many occasions.

He would go head on against fate, and he would would win.


	7. CHAPTER VII

**NOTE: The second to last chapter (more than likely). To answer a question, Samuil and the Vultures are both original. As for the Praetorian Guard, that is what Alice calls them and they are in no way whatsoever related to Caesar's Legion, just to let you know. Thank you all for reading this far into it, hope you enjoy.**

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><p>"This is your last chance," warned Samuil through his megaphone. "Surrender yourselves now or die horribly like the rats that you are." The Vulture leader took a short pause, waiting for the masked man and I to reply.<p>

The man and I remained silent. We would not be surrendering.

"Then so be it," snarled Samuil. He barked his orders to the restless crowd. The raiders cheered a barbaric war cry for soon their bloodlust would be satisfied.

The raiders opened fire.

I ducked as low as I could as the rounds struck the wood like hail above me, tearing deeper and deeper into the desk with each consecutive hit. The raiders concentrated their gunfire, maintaining a suppressive surge of bullets that prevented the masked man from returning fire. Free of retaliation the raiders drew closer to the building where the man and I took shelter. Soon they would swarm into the lobby like the locust they were.

Samuil and his Praetorian Guard held back and watched the carnage unfold.

"What are we going to do?" I asked the man, yelling to be heard over the gunfire. In seconds we would be captured. The raiders would do atrocious, unspeakable things to us. They would brutalize me like that man had attempted just hours earlier.

Except this time the faceless man would not come to my rescue.

In response to my question the man held up a fragmentation grenade. He wasted no time in pulling the pin, counting to three, and tossing it above the splintered desk and towards the building's entrance. Several raiders screamed out in panic as they were consumed by the ensuing explosion. In the chaos that followed the masked man dragged me from behind the desk and we made way for a nearby corridor.

Samuil could be heard barking his orders. The raiders pushed pass their fallen brethren and flooded into the lobby, firing uselessly at the man and I as they gave chase. A door ahead of us flew open as more raiders broke into the building. Not slowing, we detoured down another hall. Another door flew open as more raiders spilled into the hall and opened fire. The man pulled me away from the gunfire and we fell through an open door and into a dimly lit stairwell.

There was no other option other than to go up.

I was dragged up the stairs as the man took the steps two, sometimes three at a time. The doorway leading to the second floor was blocked by fallen debris so we continued upward to the third floor, which was also blocked. The man threw his weight against the fourth floor entrance but the heavy wooden doors refused to budge even an inch. By now I could hear the pursuing raiders pounding up the steps after us, shouting threats and curses as they went. The man tossed down more grenade to discourage their advance and we moved on to the fifth floor.

To my relief – and amazement – the doors stood wide open.

We ran through a dusty office workplace that had once held dozens of diligent employees. Dilapidated computers sat useless on tarnished desks, overseen by posters denouncing communism and corporate espionage. Scavengers had ransacked every filing cabinet, spilling their contents to the floor. Discarded papers crunched under our feet as we ran blindly through the building seeking escape.

A door set into the wall opposite us broke open, jarring the doorframe out of place with an audible _crack_. Samuil's two Praetorian Guards entered, their weapons raised and ready to strike. The masked man was quick to fire his rifle. The lead Praetorian spun out of harms way and fell to the side; the second leaped forward, plunging his wicked blade downwards in a vicious arc. The masked man sidestepped this attack with ease. He took hold of the raider and spun him hard, flinging him across a nearby desk and through a battered computer. The remaining Praetorian thrust his spear forward in an attempt to skewer the masked man. My protector pushed the blade away and brought his knee up into the raider's gut. With a firm grip on his rifle the man swung the weapon upwards, slamming the butt of the firearm under the raider's chin and sending him flying back into the air. The Praetorian landed with a thud, dazed and confused and, without a doubt, in pain.

The masked man took me by the hand and we sprinted pass the fallen guards and through the door that they had so kindly opened for us. We ran into a lounge and the man stopped long enough to close the door behind us. As a failsafe he blocked it by tipping a conveniently placed Nuka-Cola vending machine. We exited the room through another door and sped down a dark corridor. I looked back to see the lethal blade of a spear tear into the lounge door, piercing the heavy wood with ease. The door was ripped apart and the vending machine kicked aside. The Praetorian led the charge after us, followed by the horde of bloodthirsty raiders.

There was a second stairwell. Samuil could be heard from below, barking more orders to his men as they ascended. Again there was no choice other than to flee upwards, and again I was dragged up the steps by the masked man.

My eyes burned as we stepped into the blinding sunlight, leaving the building's interior and setting foot atop the roof. I could hear the raiders behind us: their footsteps, their yells, their cheers. Samuil led the surge, opening fire with his short assault rifle the moment he saw us. The man and I ran in full sprint, quickly running out of building. My feet left the ground and I was carried by the masked man who sped towards the edge with no intent on slowing.

I screamed as we left solid footing and soared freely into the air.

We landed hard, rolling into a heap atop of an adjacent building. I stared up blankly into the blue sky above, my head throbbing and my mind disoriented. The masked man picked himself up beside me, shaking his head clear.

We were both alive. A little worse for wear, but alive nonetheless.

Samuil stared down at us from across the street, yelling angrily at his subordinates with a mixture of rage and disbelief splayed out across his square face. Showing their true finesse, Samuil's Praetorian Guard followed our flight path over the divide, leaping with their arms spread wide like the wings of the vulture painted across their chests.

The masked man drew back the bolt of his hunting rifle and fired, striking one Praetorian in midair. The injured raider struck his head on the cement with enough force to snap his neck. The surviving Praetorian rolled onto his feet and lunged forward, driving his spear ahead with deadly intent. The masked man only just dodged the attack. The raider swung his blade in a deadly dance, the tip of the spear catching the masked man's rifle and tearing it away from his grasp. It skidded to a halt near where I lay. The Praetorian swung wide in a killer circle. The man grabbed onto the smooth metal of the shaft, stopping the attack cold. A backhand sent the raider reeling, who then retaliated with a punch of his own. The faceless man spun on his heels, avoiding the blow and driving his foot into the raider's chest with a debilitating back kick. The man continued into his spin, ripping the spear from the raider's hand and driving the wicked blade into the Praetorian Guard's stomach. The mortally wounded raider held onto the shaft, desperate to prevent the inevitable. A final push by the masked man plunged the spear completely through the Praetorian, sending him stumbling back and falling to his demise off the building.

Samuil howled with rage. The raiders that had taken up firing positions along the roof of the office building opened fire. The masked man spun away from the firing squad and sped to where I lay. He grabbed his rifle and hauled me up to my feet, and we both ran as bullets pockmarked the cement around us. A triangular skylight protruding from the roof offered us a means of escape. The masked man leaped feet first, his boots shattering the glass with a deafening crash. I jumped through the hole he had made, falling fifteen feet into the room below.

I opened my eyes sometime later. The faceless man was crouching above me. His gloved hand was pressed to my throat, checking for a pulse. I smiled, my own reflection smiling back at me from the man's mask.

"I'm still alive," I croaked. I was battered and sore beyond belief, not to mention far more worse for wear, but I was alive. As a bonus nothing felt broken.

The man nodded once and helped me to my feet. Looking around I could tell we were in a penthouse or hotel suite of sorts, though its lavish appeal had long since faded. A large bed had cushioned the man's fall while I, on the other hand, had landed on the hardwood floor. I cursed my luck and followed the man as he kicked down the nearest door, knocking it free of its hinges. We proceeded through the decrepit hall and descended down the nearest stairwell. Soon the _EXIT _sign that hung above the first level doorway came into view and I chimed excitedly.

The exit blew open as an armed raider barged into the stairwell. "There you..." The masked man shot the raider dead before he could finish his exclamation. His comrades, unwilling to share his fate, fired blindly from behind cover. The man and I retreated back up the steps and to the second floor.

"There!" I yelled pointing to a sunlit skywalk.

The man and I tore across the skyway. Glass windows exploded like shrapnel as raiders fired upon us from below. I covered my head with my hands and ducked low enough to avoid being hit. The masked man showed no such concern and sprinted full speed ahead, the gunfire seemingly unable to touch him.

"Use the Rockwell!" shouted someone from down below.

I glanced over at the mob gathered below us. A heavily armored raider approached his brethren and hefted a large metal tube so that it rested heavily on his shoulder. An enormous fireball erupted from one end – the end pointed at us – as he fired.

A massive explosion sent shock waves rippling through the structure as the rocket impacted the skywalk behind me. The bridge's frame buckled from the strain, collapsing as large cracks radiated from the impact's epicenter. Raiders dove for cover as chunks of concrete fell down to the street below. Still intact windows exploded from the pressure as the walls warped around me. The masked man reached the safety of the building and turned to face me.

I reached out to him as the floor gave way beneath my feet.

The man grabbed my hand as I fell along with the bridge, dust rising up to consume me. My body acted as a pendulum, I was the weight and he was the string, and I slammed into the side of the building. I could taste the iron in my blood as it dripped down from my nose. Their meal denied, the Vultures below us opened fire. Standing precariously close to the edge, the man hauled me up into the safety of the building.

I stared into my own reflection, thankful that the faceless man had once again rescued me from certain doom. He must have known what I was thinking because he nodded once, as if acknowledging my thanks.

I smiled my crooked smile.

His mask sparked as a bullet struck his head.

The man fell back, motionless before my eyes.


	8. CHAPTER VIII

"No!" My voice was hollow. The ma lay still before me, his mechanical breaths silent in the still air. Specks of blood stained his stormchaser hat near where the bullet had hit. I rushed over to his side, my body numb. Tears filled my eyes, streaking my grime covered face as they fell down to my cheeks. I buried my face in the man's dusty coat. "No, no, no, no, no! You can't die! You can't..."

A hand was gently placed atop my head.

The masked man pushed himself up so that he was sitting upright. He rubbed at his head where the bullet had struck him, tracing a gloved finger along the cracks the spiderwebbed across his visor. I lunged into him, wrapping my scrawny arms tightly around his waist, unable to stem the flow of tears any longer. After a moment the man returned the hug, embracing me tightly like my father had once done.

"Be more careful next time," I begged. The man shrugged, and I laughed, just a little.

Gunfire tore into the walls around us. Three raiders inched as close as possible over the destroyed bridge, firing across the expanse with all the skill of a toddler. His arm still draped protectively around me, the masked man raised his rifle and fired from the hip, striking one raider and sending him tumbling off the edge. The remaining two retreated back into the safety of the building, disappearing from sight.

I helped the faceless man to his feet – he was a little unsteady – and we continued through the building. Sunlight flooded into the interior from where the building's northern wall had once stood. The structure had long since collapsed, leaving a gaping hole that opened up to a long avenue.

In the distance I could see the desert.

The man slung his rifle over his shoulder and then pointed directly ahead to the sandy horizon, indicating that that was where we were headed. He reached into an inner coat pocket and held up a magnum revolver, its tempered steel glistening in the sunlight. He checked the chambers and nodded his head once, looking down on me.

I nodded back, a smile plastered to my thin face.

Revolver at the ready, the masked man led our charge to freedom, sliding down the rubble embankment to the streets below. I followed after him, nearly falling flat onto my face. We both hit the ground running.

A small contingent of raiders poured into the avenue from an alleyway in an attempt to block our escape. Two raised their assault rifles to fire and were quickly gunned down by the masked man, not once slowing as his magnum roared like caged thunder. A third charged recklessly towards us with only a battered machete and soon met his end. A fourth, armed with a handgun, met a similar fate. The fifth raider ambushed us from behind a wrecked Corvega, brandishing a nailed baseball bat and a metal garbage can lid. The raiders swung at my head, but the faceless deflected the attack with his forearm, the rusted nails tearing into the sleeve of his long coat. The man then pressed the barrel of his magnum against the raider's makeshift shield and squeezed the trigger. The thin metal did little to stop the bullet and the raider fell to the ground, screaming in agony. The final raider popped up from behind cover ahead of us, a heavy rocket launcher slung across his shoulder. He was deftly shot by the masked man and fell, along with his launcher, harmlessly to the asphalt.

Gunfire erupted from behind us as more raiders flooded into the street, led personally by their leader, Samuil. The man and I dove for cover behind where the rocket toting raider had hidden, pressing our backs against the warm cement as bullets tore through the air above. Chips flew off as the cement chunk was struck, pulverized dust wafting into the air.

The masked man slid the cylinder for his revolver, removing the spent casing and inserting new rounds. He then handed the weapon to me. I held it, its weight heavy in my small hands. The man took his rucksack and slid its loose strap around me, tightening it so that it was snug but not too tight. He reloaded his hunting rifle and pointed out to the desert in the distance.

It then dawned on me as to what he intended to do.

I shook my head vigorously. "No. No! You have to come with me!"

He pointed again out to the desert, as if commanding me to run.

I looked into the man's face, into my own frightened one, and shook my head again.

He nodded once, hard.

The man wasn't about to give me a choice. "Don't take long."

The man nodded and spun out of cover, firing upon the nearest raider. A red mist appeared behind his head as his skull blew out. I ran from my cover, towards the deserted the loomed before me, the magnum held gingerly in my grasp. The man fired a second shot and followed, grabbing onto the discarded rocket launcher that lay near his feet. The raiders fired upon us, but we were too far out of range.

_We're gonna make it_.

_Me and the man our going to make it and we are going to live happily every after_.

I smiled.

Glass shattered and rained from above as two more of Samuil's Praetorian Guard burst free of the building the man and I now ran pass. One landed behind me and turned to face the masked man, spear raised; the second came after me.

I gripped the magnum tight in my hands.

A rocket flew through the air, impacting the fourth floor of a small high-rise overlooking the avenue. The explosion gutted the rooms there, destroying several columns that supported the weight of the structure. The facade crumbled. Tons of concrete and steel fell from the sky, crashing into the ground below.

The Praetorian chasing after me was caught under a large boulder and crushed.

I turned to look back. The masked man stood beyond the curtain of falling rubble, the Praetorian dead at his feet, his neck twisted at an odd angle. He cast aside the spent and still smoking rocket tube, raising an arm to point ahead at the desert horizon.

I yelled out to him, but the man merely shook his head.

He stared directly into my eyes from behind his mask.

Then the man with no face gave me a small wave goodbye...

And then turned to face Samuil and his Vultures.

The small high-rise leaned dangerously before toppling, an avalanche that fell into the avenue with a thunderous crash. Dust billowed up like smoke from a fire, clouding the sky above until all was dark. The masked man, along with Samuil and his army, disappeared from sight behind the newly created mountain of rubble.

Leaving me, once again, alone in the world.


	9. CHAPTER IX

**NOTE: The end of WASTELAND. All good things must come to an end, and I thank you all for staying to the very end. Please let me know what you thought of the story because I feed off of your criticism or, in what has been the case before, praise. Again, thank you all. I bid you Adieu for now.**

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><p>It was only much later that I looked back to the city ruins: a sprawling mecca lost to the vast desert known as the Wasteland. I wept along this lonely stretch of road, waiting for the masked man to emerge safely from his battle and join me once again so that we may travel the wastes together and, as I had hoped before, to live happily ever after.<p>

But he never did.

Happy endings no longer existed in this world.

Only hardships and pain.

I held up the man's revolver, the magnum he had given me to defend myself. It's tempered steel glistened in the waning sunlight. I aimed the weapon at myself and placed my mouth over the tip of the barrel, my small finger resting tentatively on the trigger. There was nothing left for me in this cruel world. It was better to just die, to end my suffering now.

For several minutes I remained like this, the weapon in my mouth, my finger on the trigger.

Then I lowered my arm.

I packed the revolver into the man's rucksack – another gift from him to me – and turned my back to the city, never again looking back.

The man with no face had made the ultimate sacrifice so that I may live on: an urchin who survived by the kindness of his heart. I was forever in his debt, a debt I would not let go unpaid. I would live on, both for him and for me, facing whatever hardships came my way as the man had once done before me.

I took my first steps into this new world.

It was the least that I could do.

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><p><strong>-To Be Continued-<strong>


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